Su Mu’s heart churned with a bitter mix of grief and fury as she trudged through the remaining half of the race alongside Luo Jialan.Â
Her legs moved mechanically, each step a rebellion against the weight of her thoughts.
Luo Jialan’s demand gnawed at her, a thorn of indecision lodged deep in her chest.
What was this, some humiliating public spectacle?
To degrade herself in front of everyone, as if she were some animal?
Worse still, she’d just been jostling among the boys, and now those whispered rumors would surely solidify into truth.
Her head throbbed, a dull pulse of dread, but Luo Jialan, blissfully unaware of the storm in Su Mu’s mind, pressed on.
“Hurry up,” Luo Jialan urged, her voice sharp with impatience.
“No one’s watching now. You can’t keep wandering around school looking like that, can you?”
Su Mu’s eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, I bet you’re enjoying this.’
A flicker of suspicion sparked in her mind, fueled by Tang Nai’s earlier warnings about the dangers of “sinking degree.”
Her guard snapped up like a steel trap.
This girl was hooked—addicted to the thrill of control, to the game of “pinching.”
Did she even know what happened to those who fell too deep into that obsession?
“No,” Su Mu declared, planting her hands on her hips, her voice a blade of defiance.
“I’m fine just like this.”
Luo Jialan blinked, caught off guard by the steel in Su Mu’s small frame.
That stern little face, so resolute, left her momentarily speechless.
‘How dare she refuse me?’
But then, a quieter thought crept in—she could refuse, couldn’t she?
Luo Jialan’s cheeks warmed with the uncomfortable truth: her insistence wasn’t entirely selfless.
This chipmunk of a girl, so slight and fragile compared to her, felt wrong.
That flat, empty silhouette—it was unnatural, unsettling.
A car without headlights, speeding recklessly down the road, yet not a flicker of movement to catch the eye.
It was maddening.
But the thought that surged next startled even her.
Since when had she craved such control over Su Mu?
That kind of hunger, that possessive edge—it reminded her of someone else.
Someone like Luo Linglan, that woman whose shadow loomed large in her memory.
“Fine,” Luo Jialan relented, her voice softer now.
“But doesn’t it drain you, staying like that?”
“It’s no big deal,” Su Mu shot back, her tone unwavering.
“This is how I want it.”
Yet as other worries crept in, her defiance faltered, her face twisting into a grimace.
The upcoming tests—would she have to endure them with the girls now?
She’d be marked, scrutinized, branded as some oddity to be watched.
The Magical Girl Forum, that chaotic digital coliseum, thrived on such speculation.
They dissected every detail of a magical girl’s private life, hungry to unmask their idols.
Some were fanatical enough to try doxxing them, though the girls’ secrecy measures were ironclad.
When all else failed, the Great Memory Erasure Technique was their blunt, brutal solution—erasing suspicions with surgical precision.
Still, the forum’s scavengers were relentless, piecing together clues from the smallest inconsistencies.
A pink-haired girl outrunning men in a kilometer race?
That wasn’t just talent—that was suspicious.
Not a magical girl, then what?
A weirdo?
There were stories, after all.
Like the foreman who’d watched, slack-jawed, as a nondescript man halted a thirty-ton steel coil with a single hand—a feat no mortal could claim.
He wasn’t a magical girl, just a scruffy uncle, but the combat department had whisked him away after a quiet tip.
That tale was legendary on the forum, sparking a frenzy of amateur sleuths hunting for anomalies, desperate to uncover the weirdos in their midst.
Most found nothing, but Su Mu knew her luck was thinner than most.
If they sniffed out that she was Irina, the genius magical girl, her life as Su Mu would vanish like smoke.
“I need a minute,” she muttered, slipping away from Luo Jialan.
“Bathroom.”
Her plan was simple: ditch her, then sneak back into the boys’ group.
She’d claim a last-minute conflict delayed her test.
Easy.
She passed the urinals, her steps quick and deliberate, and locked herself in a stall.
Ten minutes, she figured, would be enough to wait it out.
But then a chill prickled her scalp, and her eyes darted upward.
The ceiling was the same as ever—dingy, unremarkable—but a faint rustling echoed from above, punctuated by soft thumps.
“Cough, ugh, so stuffy,” came a muffled voice.
Su Mu froze, her breath catching as a dusty face, framed by tangled black hair, poked through a gap in the ceiling tiles.
Her heart lurched.
“Hey, hey, don’t freak out! It’s me, senior!” the voice squeaked.
‘Mi Xian?’ Su Mu nearly choked on her laughter, memories of Mi Xian’s last online meltdown flashing through her mind.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, her cheeks flushing at the absurdity.
If she’d been using the stall, this would’ve been mortifying.
But before Mi Xian could answer, footsteps—loud, chaotic—echoed outside.
The boys, fresh from their run, were piling in.
Mi Xian’s position was a disaster; anyone glancing up could spot her dangling from the ceiling.
Without thinking, Su Mu grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged lightly.
Mi Xian yelped, a sharp “Ahh!” that rang through the room.
The boys outside paused.
“Did you hear that?” one muttered.
“Sounded like the women’s bathroom.”
“Nah, it came from the stalls,” another replied.
Mi Xian, wide-eyed, melted into a shadow, slithering into Su Mu’s own before re-forming beside her.
As she opened her mouth to speak, Su Mu clamped a hand over it, silencing her.
Two girls in a men’s bathroom stall?
The scandal would be legendary.
The boys’ voices faded as they shuffled out, and Su Mu released her grip, Mi Xian’s face now beet-red.
“Next time, call me first,” Su Mu whispered fiercely, shoving her phone number at her.
“Don’t just pop up like that!”
“I had urgent news!” Mi Xian protested, her voice a hushed squeak.
“What, here to arrest me again? Lando’s outside—go bash their heads in!” Su Mu snapped, half-joking.
Mi Xian shook her head frantically.
“No, if she came, Lando couldn’t stop her. But her target’s not you—it’s Motes, that magical girl.”
“Motes?” Su Mu frowned.
“Who’s after her?”
“The new Weirdo King,” Mi Xian said gravely.
Su Mu blinked.
“But Motes left on the high-speed train last night.”
Mi Xian’s jaw dropped.
“What?”
***
In a hotel suite so opulent it gleamed like a gilded cage, a blonde girl—no older than 12, her face carved in ice—lounged on a velvet sofa.
At her feet lay a mangled wine glass, its once-elegant form crushed by her careless grip.
Servants hovered nearby, their eyes darting to her, then away, cowed by the crimson vertical pupils that burned with a menace far beyond her childish frame.
“I told you,” she said, her voice a chilling monotone, “bring Ning Xi to my side.”
“She… doesn’t seem willing,” a trembling voice ventured.
The girl’s gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade.
“And why should I care?”
The speaker shrank back, silenced by her glare.
She leaned forward, her small hands clenching.
“But Motes’s return is good news. Because—”
She surged to her feet, one tiny foot slamming onto the marble coffee table.
The stone cracked like brittle glass, shards scattering across the floor.
“She’s the one who made me this.”
The room held its breath, the dissonance of her childish voice and ruthless aura jarring every nerve.
“That sadistic wretch,” she spat, her words dripping with venom.
“I’ll make her writhe in torment until she’s sobbing for mercy.”